A Valentine's Day Getaway

A Valentine's Day Getaway

August 18, 2026

We're ignoring the fact that this happened six months and four days ago, okay?

I don't remember ever caring all that much about traditional pageantry of Valentine's Day. The elementary school era cards are super cute, candy is a great gift any day of the year, and the color scheme is fab, though hardly relegated to that time of year (in my wardrobe, anyway.) I'm not a Valentine's Day hater, by any means! It just was never the most important or meaningful day of the year for me, the way birthdays and anniversaries are. (And, TBH, a lot of the Valentine's Day hoopla has always seemed extremely Straight, which has never been appealing to me.) 

And yet! Valentine's Day 2026 was THE quintessential, romcom-esque, V-Day getaway. Even I must admit, Nora Ephron kinda has a point about how f*cking cute a Valentine's Day can be.

New Person (M) and I decided to spend the weekend in Staunton, Virginia–an adorable, antiques-filled town in the Shenandoah Valley. I wasn't planning to buy a new outfit for the occasion...but I couldn't stop ogling this rose dress from Farm Rio. Tiers of fluttery layers like this aren't usually my thing, but this one was far too pretty to pass up. 

We stayed at the Blue Ridge Abbey, the cutest bed & breakfast, in Buena Vista—an even tinier town than Staunton. The whole town was very sleepy that weekend, and M & I were the only guests at the Abbey. A marvelous excuse to explore the halls with complete abandon! 

Would you forgive me if I said this was the only photo I have of our gorgeous room from that weekend? M asked me to be their Valentine via Taco Bell, so it seemed only right that it was our snack on the drive up. 

A quick moment to give M their flowers (as it were). With all the appropriate pageantry of a new couple celebrating their first Valentine's Day, I spent several January weekends making M a Valentine's-themed advent calendar. It was an intense craft, okay—I was picking red glitter out of my carpet for weeks! I was convinced I was going to win sappiest (and therefore, best) gift.

Apparently, M was hell-bent on outdoing me. Not only did they show up at my door the morning before we left for our weekend away with a dozen roses, a huge box of chocolate, and a teddy bear-shaped balloon, I looked up from my perch in their passenger seat on Sunday night to catch them emerging from the Buena Vista Food Lion with a bottle of wine (the objective) and ANOTHER bouquet of roses and EVEN MORE chocolate. When I asked, gobsmacked, what they were doing, they just shrugged. "I didn't get you flowers or chocolate here." That night was really one of those romcom, pinch-me moments—up to my earlobes in bubbles, soaking in our room's Cadillac-sized bathtub, eating chocolate truffles, and drinking cheap wine. Literally what could be better? 

I digress. We arrived in town on Saturday, actual-factual Valentine's Day, and only had a few hours to relax before we needed to get dressed and out the door for our much-anticipated reservation at Zynodoa. 

No hint of hyperbole: we weren't even done with our appetizers yet when I put this meal on my "Best Meals of 2026" list. Seriously, this dinner was six months ago and my mouth is watering just thinking about it. 

We started with a delightful glass of champagne—which turned out to be a long-distance gift from an acquaintance of NP who heard we were having Valentine's Day dinner here and called the restaurant to buy us a drink! Isn't that the chicest and sweetest thing ever?! Definitely tucking that idea into my back pocket. Then, we absolutely devoured a bruléed cornbread that made me wish I wasn't such a careful flosser, if only to retain one measly little kernel of its greatness in a molar for later. Alas! 

The rest of the meal featured trout, scallops (this has really been the Year of Scallops for me, personally....more on that later), NP had steak, and we shared a dessert that has escaped our memory in every detail except for the exquisite banana flavor—a recommendation of the lovely couple in their 40s sitting next to us.

We were lucky enough to sit at a table sandwiched between two other couples enjoying a Valentine's dinner, and the ambiance of Zynodoa fostered plenty of cutie little conversations. The couple sitting to our right used to live in Richmond, and their glowing recommendation of Edo's Squid finally motivated me to get off my ass and try it. (Of course, it's now become my favorite restaurant in Richmond, and I'm angry that I wasted 4 entire years of prime real estate! (My apartment was 4 blocks from Edo's. Now that I've moved, it's a drive. (Oh, also, I moved! More on that later, too. (Is this too many simultaneous parentheticals?))))

The next day, we had homemade waffles in bed at the Abbey and, when we finally did get up, spent the day wandering through gorgeous little shops and antique stores. One of our favorite stops was Elli Bubble, the cutest little love-filled bubble tea shop, where you could make & send Valentine's cards! I sent one to Jolie, my almost-birthday twin.

That evening, we took a snowy ride along the Virginia Scenic Railway, chugging along on a vintage train car through the Blue Ridge mountains to take in the sights, learn about the fascinating history of the area, and eat a delicious dinner featuring locally sourced ingredients.

Before heading home on Monday, M and I made a little pilgrimage to nearby Natural Bridge State Park. I'd never been before—a fact that blew M's mind—and I was promptly awed by the breathtaking, pristine landscape lightly dotted with snow and fresh ice. 

I love that they have rows of benches for visitors to sit and marvel at the bridge in a pattern vaguely reminiscent of a church nave. I think more natural spaces should be treated like the wonderful, sacred spectacles that they are with unobtrusive vantage and reflection points.

On our way back to Richmond, M and I stopped in Harrisonburg for a very silly and important lunch at Chili's with Evan & Jolie. All-in-all, a weekend I'll be remembering for a long, long time. 

Top photo credit @le_supper.club

A Week in the Life: April 2026

A Week in the Life: April 2026

June 6, 2026

This year has absolutely flown by. I mean, how is it already June?! Though it feels like every week has its own flavor of hectic lately, there are some weeks even more packed than others. This one random week in April turned out to be one of those. 

Sunday, April 19

For the past several years, I have been suffering the effects of some kind of witch's curse. It's a very specific type of spell that, luckily, only impacts me in one very niche area: Lake Street Dive concerts. Namely my inability to attend a Lake Street Dive concert. It's not that I can't get tickets! Oh no, I'm allowed to purchase as many tickets as I want. I am cursed to never, ever use them, however. (This has happened three separate times over the past six years, okay...I'm not jumping to conclusions!) 

Well, currently knocking on wood as I announce this, but I think it's safe to say the curse has finally lifted. That's right, on Sunday, April 19, I was finally able to see Lake Street Dive at their concert in Charlottesville. I went with my friends Molly and Evan, and it was (almost) delightful! We sat outside enjoying the balmy spring weather at a pretty venue (positive!) that was FAR too small for the crowd LSD attracts (negative). Being jostled in a crowd isn't that unexpected when attending a concert, especially an outdoor one, but apparently our particular spot on the grass was a well-known thoroughfare to everyone but us. (People stomped on our blankets all night as they made bathroom and beer runs, oblivious to the actual path to our immediate left.) Ah, well. Humanity!  

Monday, April 20

M and I were invited to present at a local elementary school's Career Day on Monday! Well, we were last minute fill-ins after the people the school actually wanted cancelled or couldn't show. It's alright, though! We can't all be One Direction, and I was glad to be 5sos* for the day to spend some time with our teacher friends and their hyper kiddos. Well, turns out they didn't even want the backups! So, Monday was a pretty normal day that ended early with a slice of Shyndigz' Spotted Cow in the bathtub (IYKYK).

*This joke would've started wars on Tumblr back in the day, btw. I can speak with a sense of authority on the subject bc of my moderately successful midsized fanfic blogging experience during the peak 1D Tumblr era. Harry Hospital One-Shot, anyone? 

Tuesday, April 21

On Tuesday, I woke up at 4 a.m. so I could make it to Old Rag for a morning hike with Michael. I wrote all about it already, but TLDR: "God, this hike was hard."

After the hike (aka when my body started shutting down), I had yet another outing. On the same day. On a SCHOOL NIGHT! Little pre-narcolepsy-diagnosis Kate would be so in awe of me right now. Molly, Evan, and I continued our mini streak of concert-going with the St. Paul and the Broken Bones show at the Lewis Ginter Botanical Gardens.

I discovered St. Paul  & co. two years ago during a random Wednesday morning NPR radio interview featuring clips from their album Angels in Science Fiction. It has since become one of my favorite albums of all time and it wouldn't be hyperbolic to say their song, "Fall Moon," tangibly improved my life when it debuted last fall, stuck as I was in a (minor) pit of despair. 

The show was a riot! Brother Wallace opened and did his best with the most seated crowd I've ever encountered at a concert. (Thankfully, the reluctant bunch sitting on their derrieres in the VIP section did, in fact, stand when St. Paul & co. took the stage.) Y'all, I'm such a sucker for a band with a brass section. My poor legs were wobblier than a two-legged stool, but I was grooving. 

At one point, lead singer Saint Paul donned a splendiferously sequined muumuu and waded through the crowd. (I was entirely unprepared for the utter magic of his vocals, btw. I'm a pretty large fan, I'd say, and they still surprised me!) He eventually climbed a ladder—whose origin was no mystery as the lucky roadie who bore it followed Paul from the stage, the bright yellow apparatus thrust over his head like a Home Depot-branded scepter—and Paul sparkled brilliantly in the night sky at the back of the crowd like a great homing beacon beckoning us all to the exits. (It was the final performance of the night.)

I don't remember getting home or falling asleep, although I know I did because...

Wednesday, April 22

"Okay, so you're probably going, "Is this like a Noxzema commercial or what?" 

On Wednesday, I had to be up and out before 6am because I was catching the Amtrak to spend a day tagging along on a school trip through Arlington National Cemetery and Mount Vernon!

If you weren't aware already, allow me to assure you: Arlington National Cemetery is f*cking big and there are approximately 1,000 stairs and even more hills, so it's definitely not smart to, I don't know, HIKE a MOUNTAIN the day before you need to keep up with a caffeinated tour guide leading a group of 40 teenagers around the suburbs of Washington D.C. 

Okay, hissy fit over. Needless to say, my body was just an eensie weensie bit sore this day. It's probably much better for my recovery that I had such a packed calendar, though, because I fear the tense muscles would've saturated in their lactic acid and hurt much, much worse if I'd spent Wednesday in bed recovering the way I normally would. 

Hair was hair-ing that day, for sure

Thursday, April 23

After sleeping for at least 11 hours Wednesday night, I was grateful to have a normal Thursday with minimal plans. It was Richmond Restaurant Week, so Mom and I picked Echelon Wine Bar to try. It's a cute, little farm-to-table place downtown that advertised a delicious-sounding grilled broccoli di ciccio appetizer. Yummy! Sedate vibes, though it was a Thursday night, to be fair. 

Friday, April 24

The sedate vibes didn't last very long, thank god. Tessa arrived from Williamsburg after work on Friday and we scooted our way over to Dreamhaus for a show that our friend Corrine sold to me as "feminist gore shadow puppetry." Quickest RSVP of my life, obviously.

This was our first time at Dreamhaus, which is a really cute venue! (I heard a rumor they were on the brink of closure, so I'm glad they're sticking around. The Dreamhaus vibe is vaguely Parisian noir cabaret. That is to say: fun, unique, and very red.) The show was actually a double feature, so once the three of us caught up to the fact that the first act was distinctly not the feminist gore shadow puppets, we were much more on board.

I've been experiencing a bit of a personal puppetry Renaissance lately (a Puppaissance, if you will), and it's really unlocked some fresh creative energy! I have Corrine to thank for that—they brought me to my first ever puppetry slam in early fall and I've been hooked since. (Though, I do owe a special shoutout to my college friend, Miranda, who honored me with the invitation to be her sole guest at the final showcase of her puppetry class senior year.)

There's something ineffably fascinating to me about puppetry's ability to be both blithe and poignant, incredibly simple yet highly evocative, and to oscillate with ease between the extremes. Last week (we're rolling with the blatant anachronism), M and I attended a sound show with my friend Liv. The first act was decidedly postmodern (or metamodern, depending on your particular definition...really picking my battles here) and one of the elements that has stuck with me the most was the band's ability to evoke tangible sensations, thoughts, or emotions through discordant, seemingly nonsensical sounds. Puppetry is (often) a more literal and digestible version of that.

Saturday, April 25

This is one of my favorite pictures of Corrine and I, of late, settling in for a watch party of The National Theatre's production of The Importance of Being Earnest 

On Saturday, Tessa and I bopped around some of my favorite antiquing spots in the city. Namely, Class and Trash, Vintage Glass and Pottery in Lakeside, and—a new discovery that has quickly become a standout favorite—Paul's Place. The perfect ending for what turned out to be a Paul-heavy week.

That afternoon, in the pleasantly drizzling rain and before a small crowd of loved ones, two of our friends participated in the time-honored ritual of high camp that is a fake gay wedding. This one was even turned up a notch, though, in that it was a faux gay vow renewal after the initially fake gay wedding that took place 2 years ago. 

I adore my friends for many reasons, paramount among them for prolonging the fecklessly abandoned art of play well into our young adulthood. This event was so much more than mere camp, though that would be reason enough for a festive gathering. The two "spouses" are real-life best friends and the vows they wrote and read to each other about their friendship were deeply moving and, TBH, much more feeling than some of the vows I've heard at 'actual' weddings. 

C & Z, it was an honor to be invited to celebrate your friendship. May we all take the time to reflect on the vows we owe our most treasured loved ones outside the romantic sphere, and may we continue to queer the hierarchy of value that frames marriage as the greatest endeavor and incontrovertible proof of a successful life.

Hiking Old Rag

Hiking Old Rag

April 28, 2026

Because sometimes, you have to skip work on a Tuesday so you can tackle one of Virginia's most challenging hikes

My friend, Michael, is a prolific hiker, climber, camper, biker, and general nature wanderer. I would be utterly unsurprised to learn that some Yellowstone visitors managed to catch a glimpse of him scaling a rock face in the background of their family photo and currently have it displayed as evidence of Bigfoot's existence in their living room. 

All to say, it's utterly unsurprising that he would be hiking Old Rag on a Tuesday. 

 

My participation was a bit more of a production. Namely the fact that I've never hiked Old Rag before and every YouTube video, Reddit thread, and blog post I frantically googled about it proclaimed Old Rag to be the hardest hike I'd ever do in my whole life that I probably shouldn't even attempt because I'd inevitably squish myself between rocks or, alternatively, find myself utterly incapable of pitching myself over a boulder. 

(I did find two videos particularly encouraging, I'll say! This one from @emilygoesplaces and this one from @mirandagoesoutside—love ya, Emily and Miranda. Tacos on me next time.) 

I digress. Around the turn of the year, my beloved friend, Tessa, proclaimed this year: "2026—f*ck it." Thus, I decided to do the hike and ignore the heaps of fear mongering I'd waged on myself. Old Rag—f*ck it! 

I snapped this gorgeous sunrise photo of the mountain on my drive to the trailhead 

I woke up at four (!) a.m. so I could get on the road by 4:45. Old Rag is about 2 hours away from Richmond and we wanted to hit the trail early. The full loop is 10 miles. The first half is one long, steady climb and then, of course, the famous rock scramble along the ridge line. The second half, I could barely find any footage of because it's apparently "so boring." (Let me tell you, around 1.7 miles up, when you've already shed two layers, gnawed through at least four of your pocket Twizzlers, and have energetic eight year olds flying past you—"so boring" sounds like heaven.)

It was around 40 degrees when we set out, quite a refreshing feeling to experience cool air on my cheek after several 80+ days. Was the ascent steep as hell? Yes. Did it go a lot quicker than expected? Also yes! Despite the aforementioned kids (and their parents) zooming past, we made it to the scramble relatively early. 

(I was very impressed by the speed of those parents, TBH, though it's probably yet another drop in the bucket of evidence that I am a slow walker—allegations I've been fighting for years.)

The first of many (many) false summits. Oh how optimistic we look!

Michael says, "Not bad for like the sixth picture we’ve ever taken together."

Turns out, the scramble IS hard as hell. It's also the most FUN part of the hike. Like...by far! It's bizarre to even try to describe...I have no idea how the first people to traverse this path managed to make it through without serious bodily injury. 

I was supremely grateful to be tackling it with Michael, somewhat of an Old Rag regular. (And at the very least, I figured, he's like 6'4" or some such ridiculous height and I could use that to my rescue when needed.)

(I'm extremely proud to report that I never needed it!)

There are places in the scramble where you legitimately belly-flop and shimmy through an impossibly tight squeeze. Others where you have to lower yourself down ~7 feet in a deceptively narrow ravine-looking space where the risk of being over-zealous or careless is smacking your face into a rock that's older than Pangea. (Literally....the Appalachian Mountains are kind of the spinal column of terra firma. They're older than trees. For real!) 

At one point, I found myself suspended in a full skandasana between two boulders. It was very Spiderman, if I do say so myself. There were several places where I had absolutely zero clue how to maneuver myself up and over—the rock either seemed too smooth or too steep. But at every challenge, there are well-worn hand and toeholds hidden in the rock that can offer much more support than at first glance. 

I am certainly in no position to offer climbing or Old Rag advice—being an ardent abstainer and absolute beginner, respectively—but I found two central truths helped me navigate successfully. One, a climber's motto, became my mantra: 3 points of contact. You always want three separate parts of your body to connect with the rocks. That could be hand, hand, foot or foot, foot, hand, or hand, hip, foot, or foot, ass, shoulder...you get the idea. 

The second was a particular piece of advice I received from a fellow yoga instructor, also a woman, when I was training to become a teacher: lead with your center of gravity. Women tend to have a lower center of gravity than men. It's why you see more guys that are able to ride a bicycle with no hands while women tend to have better standing balance. My ability to successfully maneuver through the rock scramble is, I believe, directly linked to me directing my body over and over to follow my center of gravity because that's where I experience the most stability. If I'd bailed on a decision mid-air or grip and threw more of my weight and energy towards my shoulders, for instance, I could've really injured myself.

(One third piece of advice, if I might be so bold? Bring gloves.) 

Hauling yourself up, over, underneath, and around rocks does, in fact, get old. Around the fifth or sixth false summit, I was super over it, TBH. But the only thing more impossible than going on is going back, so....thank god for pocket Twizzlers. (Seriously, best hiking snack ever!) 

Finally, finally!, we reached the true summit. And...wow. It really is breathtaking. Like...Maria and the Von Trapp children wearing her curtains in the mountains and learning to sing breathtaking. We took a nice, lengthy rest here—tucking into our pack snacks, snapping pictures, eavesdropping on other hikers' conversations, and—if you're me, anyway—changing socks. (Extremely grateful I did, BTW. No spoilers, but that definitely saved my feet a lot of unearned grief on the descent.) 

Camping isn't allowed at the top of Old Rag, for several good reasons, but I understand the impulse that might've encouraged some thrill seekers to try it. Every worldly problem, annoyance, and sensory overload seems SO small and far away from the top of any mountain. (See: my voyage to the top of Wapuwoc in Maine.)

All the vloggers and reddit shitposters were right about the descent from Old Rag, though: it sucks. Not only is the fire road that you eventually reach rather interminably long, the descent is rocky and HARD on the knees. Once, a tattoo artist named Brian, who has an ineffable way with words—which came in handy when he was an hour-deep into tattooing M's jutty shinbone— described his knee as nothing but "a bag of rocks." Michael has at least one of those and, after that descent, I fear I'm well on my way to joining them.

I cracked my ankle a few good times on the way down, which at least starts off just as scenic as the ascend. It quickly tapers off into a dusty, rocky, deserted road full of nothing, though.

(Another tip for you because I simply can't stop myself: when you get to the final fork in the path, when the ancient trail marker says you have 1.2 miles left to the parking lot and points you back towards the thicket of jungle onto a path that will have you scaling back UP to rejoin the path you traversed several hours ago on your initial climb, only this time in sweaty, cramping reverse....ignore that sh*t. Stay on the paved, FLAT road and you'll get back to your car a hell of a lot faster. Trust me, you're not missing anything but one more chance to swipe up against some poison ivy and for the skeeters to nibble.)

A snap I took on my way out of the park (and immediately towards the nearest McDonald's with a working ice cream machine)

We began our hike just after 7 a.m. and finished around 1:30. Honestly, not a bad split for a first-timer, in my humble opinion anyway! God, this hike was hard. But it was SO worth it. I am so proud of my body?! It's so capable and strong and resilient in ways for which I hardly give it adequate credit or gratitude. Yeah, this rocked (no pun intended). I certainly feel no urge to do it again anytime soon, but I doubt that's my last journey up Old Rag.

Top photo credit @SpencerWirkkala

Camping in Kiptopeke State Park

Camping in Kiptopeke State Park

April 11, 2026

Inaugural camping trip of 2026 set the bar HIGH

Virginia, I love you. I love your mountains, I love your coastlines, I love your universities, I love (most of) your cities, I love your small towns, I love your mourning doves, I love your dogwood trees, I love the James River, I love the Chesapeake, I love, love, love you, Virginia!

Sorry, just had to get that out of the way. Last weekend, Gravy, New Person, and I fled Richmond for a weekend of camping on the Eastern Shore. 

Kiptopeke State Park was our glorious host, and she did not disappoint. I'd never been to the Eastern Shore—the little strip of land separated from the rest of the Commonwealth by the Chesapeake Bay, home to the famed Chincoteague ponies (and the same-named National Wildlife Refuge, NBD). 

It was much easier to access than I thought, thanks to the 18(!) mile-long bridge-tunnel that connects the peninsula to Hampton Roads. Eighteen miles of bridge is...a lot of bridge. (Apparently, there used to be a restaurant and fishing pier in the middle of it that were recently shuttered because they're expanding the bridge? Honestly, kinda pissed I never had the chance to eat there....what a cool gimmick! Kind of the coastal American version of dining inside the Eiffel Tower, no?) Anyway.

We arrived late on Friday night—delayed not once but twice by stagnant McDonald's drive thrus. Not entirely sure why the universe felt the need to really protect me from my filet o' fish, but I (eventually) accepted and (begrudgingly) appreciated her guidance. (We went to Taco Bell instead.)

So, the fun really started Saturday morning. The weather was beyond perfect—blue, cloudless skies, warm but not hot. After a glorious camp breakfast of egg burritos, we decided to walk down to the closest boardwalk and (finally!) lay eyes on the water. The universe (undoubtedly feeling guilty for my numerous filet 'o fish disappointments the night before) gave us a special gift: a pod of dolphins bellying up to the breakfast buffet right in front of us! 

At first, we only saw one lone dolphin bobbing through the waves. I was halfway to convincing myself this was about to become a Nim's Island situation where this dolphin was lonely and abandoned and we were going to be her new, unfortunately human but still very lovable, best friends when we spotted 3 others in a tighter grouping behind her. (The gasp of delight that NP and I let out simultaneously when we spotted the others could've registered on the Richter scale.) 

We watched until the mini-pod was out of sight to return to our campsite and prepare more properly for the day.

Picture shows Kate smiling, eyes closed, post-dolphin elation still evident on her face, smartly framed by two slender cedar trees and the thick swath of blue water behind her by a smart photographer with a keen eye for detail who is definitely not writing this certainly unbiased caption.

One of the as-yet untasted fruits of last summer's hobby shopping was the deceptively enormous and bulky bag at the bottom of the trunk containing my inflatable paddle board/kayak and related accessories. (As yet another feeble attempt to liberate myself from the patriarchal economic system, I received the set as an alternate form of payment for a relatively benign week of dog- and housesitting that occurred during Wave III of Finding Myself™ in which I was attempting to "get back to nature" and "embrace my coastal roots." Mind you, my mother sent me to an expensive (and Jesus-y) surf camp as a child and, over the course of that week, I made 19 sandcastles because I refused to get in the water even once. Sorry, Mom! (...and Jesus?))

I was feeling quite shy and shrunk away from the water under the imaginary weight of the eyes of the handful of other beachgoers. I couldn't get the image of me tumbling ass-over-tea kettle off my board, not to mention the graceless gymnastics it would take to get back on my board. Luckily, a gaggle of kayakers soon paddled around the inlet into our little cove and I borrowed their courage to get on my board for its inaugural journey. It was so f*cking fun! I didn't go very far, focusing as I was on reactivating the long-dormant muscle memory of oar mechanics.

I have no idea where my occasional, deep-set fear of water comes from, especially as a lifelong competitive (and leisure) swimmer. I lived in the water growing up! One summer, our family's black lab, Ellie, was diagnosed with a nasty case of swimmer's tail because she was trying to keep up with my gleeful paddling around and around my grandparents' pool. And yet, I bailed on my final scuba certification dive/test in high school (sorry, Mr. Carlson!) and I didn't actually get into the ocean until very recently.

I don't fear drowning if I fall off my board, the way I did when scuba diving, though I know there are lifeguards and ocean rescuers tsking at me right now. It's the ingrained fear of embarrassment, of which I am, naturally, embarrassed to admit. Sigh. Anyway, NP took a turn on the board and—the highlight of my year so far—I went paddling with Gravy, too! 

I was so focused on not tipping us into the water, I almost missed NP's frantic waving from the beach. Turns out, the dolphins had returned and I was unawaredly paddling....very close to one of them. (I'd like to think it was my fiercely independent friend from the morning.) I was so focused on safely and expeditiously getting out of their way, it wasn't until I was back on shore that I reflected on how magical it was to be so close to such a majestic, intelligent creature.

That afternoon, we made some camp lunch (veggie hot dogs FTW) and took a leisurely drive up the road to Cape Charles for some ice cream and sightseeing. It wasn't too long before I was in heavy need of a nap, though, so we returned to camp and I promptly fell asleep in the hammock. Gilligan's Island, who? 

TW: toes

We rounded out our perfect day with another walk, through the canopy this time. Then, NP made dinner on the fire, which was both wildly impressive and turned out madly delicious. A pescatarian take on cowboy campfire dinner, we had little roasted potatoes, ahi tuna steaks (and a little tuna fillet for Gravel!), and green beans. I showed NP how to make Girl Scout cherry pie for dessert (cinnamon graham crackers + canned cherry pie filling) and we fell asleep nestled into each other under the stars. 

Eager to scoop every bit of enjoyment out of our time, we hit the beach again on Sunday morning. I somehow coaxed NP into plunging beneath the water with me, but the waves were much choppier, so paddling was out of the question. The kicked-up wind gusts brought another surprise from Mother Nature, though: a real, live bald eagle!

I didn't believe we were actually witnessing a bald eagle in the wild until NP snapped this photo. I mean...a bald eagle?! The entire time we watched, the eagle never once flapped its wings, instead riding the gusts of wind. It was so masterful and graceful and moved with ease...am I a bird person now?? It was astonishing.

In my yoga class on Wednesday, undoubtedly inspired by my sight of the majestic creature, we practiced garudasana (eagle asana) and I couldn't help it, I had to tell the class about my weekend sighting. One of my semi-regular patrons spoke up, then, and said the James River has the highest concentration of nesting bald eagles in the United States outside of Alaska! The more you know. 

Cover photo credit @graciedavis27 

Kate's Perfect Day 2026

Kate's Perfect Day 2026

February 14, 2026

If it's February, it's time for another round of Kate's Perfect Day!

Somehow, my chosen birthday celebration gets better every year. I have 0 clue how that's even possible! Proof this year was even more fantastic than last? I have TWO PHOTOS of the entire day. That's it! That's all!

Photo proof number 1: 

Like last year, I made my own birthday cake. It's so fun! I jammed to Rusted Root's "Send Me On My Way" on repeat while I was baking—it really made me feel like I was having my main character moment. I went even bigger this year, tackling Sally's three-layer homemade funfetti cake. I made only 1 swap to her recipe: 2 teaspoons of vanilla + 1 teaspoon of almond extract. My loved ones raved about this cake! 

Sally means it when she says you need to eat this cake basically as soon as you make it, though—it does NOT keep. I baked mine on Friday morning, frosted in the afternoon, and refrigerated until Saturday morning. I took it out of the fridge ~10:30 and we cut into it ~4pm. It was delectable, although the texture was particularly of note (at least to me). I tried to sneak a bite of it on Sunday night as the last 2 pieces hung out in the fridge and it was stale. You snooze, you lose!

Saturday morning was bright, sunny, and frigid. I was sooo grateful for Evan, Molly, Grace, Cameron, Liv, and Erin who all trekked through tundra winds to have a pancake slumber party breakfast with me and Gravy Boat. 

New Person assigned themself chef for the day and was hard at work dishing up blueberry, chocolate chip, and mini M&M pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fried potatoes as I yapped with my friends. (Having a partner who works in food service is definitely a life hack. I have EIGHT cold smoked salmon fillets in my fridge right now #bragging) Soon enough, we'd eaten our fill and decided to play a round (or five) of Peanuts.

Photo proof number 2: 

I love my apartment to bits, but it's not really built for entertaining. My friends were such good sports and gathered on the floor around my piano bench to learn how to play the game. It was a hoot! I've never played with such a large group before and the chaos was wildly entertaining. 

Peanuts is, basically, competitive solitaire and I've gone wild teaching my loved ones how to play. I taught Jess & Tessa in Maine over the summer, Evan and Jolie while we were camping last November, my grandmother and my aunt over Christmas break...if you can't find me, it's because I'm busy spreading the gospel of Peanuts. 

The sole consistent element across three years of observing Kate's Perfect Day is a midday peruse through my go-to bookstore in Richmond. There, I caught up with Michael (I think he uses KPD solely as an excuse to browse their baller "used classics" shelf, no shade), my freshman roommate, Elisa, and her husband, Driscoll! I was gobsmacked El & D made the journey for me—I don't think I've seen them since their wedding!

There's a very niche kind of joy that settles over me when I'm browsing a bookstore and I look up to see one of the people I love most in the world also studying titles and flipping through pages. It makes me feel so contented and at ease, like I know that everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be in that moment. 

Tessa joined us at City Dogz—the only place (at least, that I know of) where I can order a vegetarian chili dog. Sometimes, the 21st century IS good! We finally cut into the cake and played a few more rounds of Peanuts after lunch—a much needed lowkey vibe in the rush of energy that is KPD. 

We migrated to Mom's house for our final event of the day: make-your-own pizzas and Matilda, one of the most Kate-ish movies ever made. Mom's house is much more suitable for hosting (she has more than 2 chairs, the show-off) and she actually owns a pizza oven (one of the best Christmas gifts I've ever given, tbh). New Person donned their chef hat again and helped Mom stretch the dough and maneuver the pies inside the 900° oven as I caught up with Leah, Harry, Willa, and Katie. 

Above everything else, Kate's Perfect Day is one of my favorite days of the year because I get to connect—however briefly!—with the people I cherish most in this world. I've collected my loved ones like art pieces over the years...at KPD this year, I had 2 college roommates; a coworker that has become my older brother; a college friend who started the knitting group that has ignited a whole new obsession for me recently; 2 Richmond friends I met as part of a relatively absurd and wonderful theme-party circuit we all somehow landed on; a friend I used to run around campus and take pictures with for our HONY-style blog; a friend I taught 9th grade English with in New York what feels like a lifetime ago; a couple I met when we worked weddings together for whom I got to take graduation and wedding pictures; a friend my mother still exclusively refers to as "the boy who lives in his car" (he goes camping a lot); a Hinge date that has become a friend; and a Hinge date that has become my lover (shoutout New Person). 

I feel so loved, valued, honored, challenged, and bolstered by my friends & family and I know my year will be incredible when I start it with a day that also celebrates them.

New Person took this photo of me a few days before Kate's Perfect Day, but I think it captures the joyful essence of this day perfectly. I felt like this all day on KPD! 

26 Hard Things in 2026

26 Hard Things in 2026

January 3, 2026

Here we go again! I felt well accomplished with my 25 hard things in 2025 so why interrupt a good thing?

26 Hard Things in 2026

1. Read 50 books
2. Find my mat 26 days in a row 
3. Ride in the RAGBRAI
4. Go for 26 swims 
5. Have 26 incredible meals 
6. Set an intention for each month 
7. Eat 2-6 different fruits & vegetables each week 
8. Begin (& COMPLETE) 2-6 arts and crafts projects 
9. Observe 1 silent hour every day 
10. Go further north than I ever have before (on this continent, anyway) 
11. Go camping 5 times 
12. Choose the brave path every time 
13. Host 2-6 parties 
14. Go on a retreat 
15. Notice 26 times I'm delighted by/with a stranger
16. Complete the first draft of the roadmap 
17. No background shows when I'm working 
18. Visit a Buddhist temple 
19. Notice 26 times I didn't let my figs rot 
20. Use my paddle board 2-6 times 
21. Go dancing at least once 
22. Make friends with falling 
23. Redetermine my relationship with my practice
24. Write & send 26 letters, notes, cards, or postcards
25. Investigate the pleasure of delayed gratification and restraint 
26. Make pasta at home at least once